


if only for a night

by scaredybear



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Gen, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaredybear/pseuds/scaredybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>stargazing in the commonwealth isn’t as romantic as it sounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if only for a night

the stars are a glittering blanket above both of your heads, and every so often maisie will point out a new one and give it a name. a part of you can’t be bothered to care, but her voice is low and sweet and you like to listen to it regardless.

“and that one, cait,” she says, hand shooting up and pointing at a collection of stars. “is orion’s belt.” to you, they all look the same, every star a notch in this strange man’s belt.

“well, where’s the rest of him?” you ask. its all you can do not to picture some mad man lobbing his clothes at the sky. maisie shrugs from her spot on the grass beside you; you feel it more than you see it.

“i can’t remember.” she says.

you’ve noticed that when maisie doesn’t want to talk about something she deflects, mumbles how she forgot. and for what its worth maybe the rest of him is gone. and maybe two centuries ago, his shirt and pants and shoes were there too, with his belt. maybe maisie really doesn’t remember–who knows what two hundred odd years of cryo-sleep would do to someone’s memory. but you know better to pry, and let silence fill the space between you and her.

maisie stops pointing out constellations, and she is quiet for so long that you begin to assume that she has fallen asleep (you're starting to doze off yourself).

then she speaks again, and you startle despite yourself.

"hey," there is a certain note of apprehension in her voice. "can--can i tell you something?"

you shift so you're propped up on your elbow, searching for maisie's face in the darkness and barely making out the shape of her before you.

"if you want to talk, i'm here for you." a part of you wants to reach out and touch her, but you stop yourself. for everything she has done for you, the least you can do is listen.

"i've been thinking," she doesn't bother with turning on her pip-boy's light, leaving the both of you in darkness; she heaves a sigh, gathering courage, words. "about you and your parents. about mine."

"what are you trying to get at?" it's hard not to get mad, or suspicious. it's harder still to tamp down the irritation that bubbles up in your voice because of all the things to talk about, she has to bring up your dead parents. the past is the past; it visits you often enough in your dreams without maisie dragging it up again.

"i said i was proud of you, and i am, but i think i'm mostly envious."

you weren't expecting envy to be the topic of this slightly uncomfortable conversation. you're not sure what, exactly, is so enviable about murder and regret.

"why the hell would you be?"

"my dad wasn't the nicest man around." maisie grows still and quiet for a beat. "he, uh, he'd hit us. and yell." and she shrugs, a bitter bark of a laugh escaping her. "for just about anything, really."

words don't come to you. your tongue becomes clumsy and you're not sure if there's much of anything for you to say. so you sit up, every part of your body on edge as maisie crumbles in front of you.

"i ran away when i was eighteen, leaving my mom and brother behind. i should have done something, and i didn't." and she's trembling like her whole body is caught in it's own personal earthquake. "i was a coward." she says the last part so low it's barely a whisper. then she warps her arms around her torso, makes herself small.

you mean to say, “i’m so sorry” but instead all that comes out is a small and quiet “oh.” because you're not used to dealing with someone else's emotional baggage. hell, you can barely handle your own. (that's what the psycho was for.

“you did something about your situation, i just ran away.” you want to ask her how blowing out her father’s brains would have solved anything when all it did for you was fuck up your head.

“don’t do this to yourself.” the words sound hollow coming from you, queen of repressing trauma. maisie just shakes her head, wiping stiffly at her eyes. you reach forward, place a hand on her arm and she stiffens at the contact at first.

“i’m proud of you.” because she found a way to survive, and what’s more important than that? you dare to move forward, gather her in your arms. “i’m proud of you.” you say it again, for it bears repeating.


End file.
